The Value of a Life

Cold wind on his skin was the only greeting Malorian felt as he awoke the next morning. He shivered slightly, his body aching in ways he couldn't even imagine as he opened his eyes, or at least the one since the other was swollen shut. He wondered for a moment if the night before had caused some sort of head trauma because it appeared as though he was moving beneath an overcast sky, but on closer examination of his surroundings he realized that he was indeed on the move and that his mode of transportation was that looked like a Forsaken war wagon.

“Awake?”

Malorian spun into an upright position, his heart racing and his stomach dropping as he tried to identify the speaker. But relief, albeit confused relief washed over him though when he saw that the driver of the cart was an extremely elderly undead apothecary who seemed to be falling apart in several places. His eye sockets stared blankly, and his jaw hung at a strange angle since it only had flesh holding it up on one side and if the elf could see correctly, he was missing the lower part of both his legs. Malorian brushed his hair out of his face as the ancient Forsaken looked at him with a patient senility which in a strange way put him at ease. He didn't think the old fart could hurt him even if he wanted to.

“Yes... I'm awake.” He said, cautiously moving so he was up behind the drivers bench, and carefully examining the binding that had been done on his broken wrist. The apothecary nodded rather mindlessly and turned his empty eyes back to the well worn road they were traveling on. “So... where are we exactly, and how did I get here?” Malorian ventured, peering around at the tall pine trees they were passing through. “Rot from Andorhal... rot must be delivered for study.” Malorian raised a quizzical eyebrow at the undead, but he just kept on with his slow rambling. “Rot goes to Undercity. Man stops rot... man pays for extra cargo, going to Undercity too. Man pays a lot. Extra cargo goes to Undercity.”

'Well he's completely off his rock.' thought Malorian to himself, but at least he'd answered his question. Though for some strange reason, he felt a sort of emptiness growing inside of him, and after his inquiry about their destination asked no more questions of the forsaken, instead only curling up in the musty smelling royal apothecary robe he seemed to have been hastily shoved into. 'So that was it...? Can I actually go on with my life now...?' These questions haunted him, swarming and buzzing inside his head, tormenting him. It wasn't like he could confide in anyone about what happened, not something like that. He'd be an laughing stock... a joke of the unyielding Horde.

He was so lost in his thoughts that day turned to night, and he only noticed when he could see faintly flickering torches ahead of him. A large wrought iron gateway barred their path, and while the gate itself was opening, the hooded forsaken guarding it looked more unyielding then simple metal could ever be. 'Deathguards...' he thought, their fearsome reputation proceeding them for he'd never actually seen one.

Raising a boney hand, their leader quickly halted the wagon and the other deathguards converged upon it, looking over the paperwork sitting next to the apothecary in the front and coming around back and none to kindly pulling Malorian out. “What's your business in the Undercity elf?” Asked the leader, glowing golden eyes glaring down at him. “Uhm... I...” He could feel his confidence crumbling under the intimidating stare. “I got lost... and he... he's giving me a ride...” He offered, hoping it would appease the guard.

“Paid by man, man says take him to Undercity.”

Malorian closed his eyes, cursing the old flesh bag for opening his mouth, but he wasn't allowed resentment for but a moment before the cold steel of a very cruel looking blade was pressed to his throat. “A spy for the Alliance!” Malorian shook his head vigorously. “No no no! The man... he wasn't Alliance!” The elf mentally kicked himself, the wheels in his head churning frantically as he tried to establish a convincing lie. “The Argent Dawn! Yeah, he was a member of theirs, he saved me!” He looked pleading up at the deathguard, who fixed him with a penetrating stare for a few more seconds before returning his blade to its sheath. “Well, why didn't you just say so to begin with.”

Malorian felt like he might just faint right there, his gaze flicking nervously between the forsaken before the moved back to their posts, their leader giving the half rotten horse pulling the cart a good smack. “Let 'em pass!” he barked, the other undead moving out of the way as the wagon rattled and began marching slowly towards their destination again. The elf heaved a huge sigh and flopped down on a pile of burlap bags, to tired to care what disgusting contents they might be filled with. He felt exhaustion getting the better of his fried nerves, the gentle jolts and bumps of the cart proving to be a small comfort as he drifted off to sleep again.

Those hands, cold and strong, all over him. The dark, faintly earthy smell that the human had carried on him... like graveyard soil, clung to his senses. His breath was hot on his neck and his words so cruel in his ear... and yet somehow he wanted to hear them again. No... no no no-

“NO!”

He shouted, sitting strait up, frightening the young forsaken standing in front of him half to death. “Blood hell mate! Don't scare a poor bloke like that!” Malorian could feel his heart racing in his chest, his rapid breathing making his chest ache. He was in a bustling area of merchants, in what was the largest building he'd ever seen... it seemed to stretch on forever. Oh! and the smell. He raised a sleeve to his nose, nearly gagging from the intense odor of putrefaction and foul... light only knows what. The young man chuckled a little, which was a rather raspy and depressing sound, but Malorian ventured the very smallest of smiles in return. “First time in the Undercity, hmm?” The elf nodded and the young undead offered a bone riddled hand to help him up. “Don' worry mate, it won't come off.” Malorian took the outstretched appendage and got to his feet with a small groan of pain.

“Oi mate, looks like you had a rough night hehe.” He gave the elf a small pat on the back, which didn't really help him feel any better, a small wince crossing his face. “Where's that old man...?” The young forsaken had to think about who he was talking about for a second before it dawned on him. “OH! You mean Old Musty – he's gone back to the Apothecarium, we probably won't see hide nor hair of him for the next few months while he concocts some new disaster.” He let out a great guffaw at that and Malorian gave a small and rather timid laugh to echo it.

“What you need mate is a stiff drink, and I know just the best place to get one if you're up for a little hike.” He looked at Malorian with a encouraging grin, tilting his head towards a massive archway that had a series of ramps and stairs leading up and out of wherever they were. Though still confused and tired, Malorian had nowhere else to be at the moment and maybe a bit of strong liqueur might calm his nerves. “Yeah... sure I guess.” The undead clapped his hands together in delight. “Excellent! Let ol' Victor show you a good time.”

An hour later found them walking into a small, gloomy looking village nestled in the rolling hills of Tirisfal. Thankful he was out of the vile catacombs of the Undercity, Malorian gazed up at the gently twinkling stars overhead. They seemed so close he felt like he could almost touch them.

“And then he says, how can she get under my skin when I ain't got none no more!”

Oh yes, his traveling companion had been prattling on the entire walk, telling him lude stories of his misadventures, past life girlfriends and how much his boss annoyed him. “I mean, really! What is the point of having a second life if you all scurry around like a bunch of ants under a rock, which, I will not lie to you, is exactly what that dump we just left is. We should be living life to the fullest! Don't you agree?!” Malorian, who was only half paying attention to the story nodded absently, which was all Victor seemed to need to continue his rant.

The tavern door opened with a prolonged creak, and the patrons only looked up long enough to acknowledge Victor's presence which from the bar keepers reaction was a frequent presence at the establishment. Two ales appeared before them as they sat and the flamboyant forsaken tossed the proprietor a silver coin and told him to keep the drink coming. Malorian took a hesitant sip of his, and quickly discovered that it tasted just about as good as Old Musty's cart had smelled and so instead of actually ingesting it, pushed the foam around on the top of it while his new friend tried to explain to him to price market for graveyard fungus. Thankfully, about four drinks later on Victor's part, a few 'charming' forsaken ladies seemed to require his full attention much more then Malorian did, and with a small amused grin he watched and the undead tried fruitlessly to flirt with the boney turtle doves.

“You alright there?”

Malorian straitened when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, though he quickly realized it was chilled only because it was covered in plate mail. His gaze followed the arm up to the face of the person it belonged to, blinking a little in a surprise at who his eyes met with. It was a Sin'dorei like himself, but it was pretty obvious from his garb that he was a Blood Knight and a decently powerful one from the obviously masterful craftsmanship that had gone into his armor. He had a very handsome face beneath the light headgear he was wearing, which was little more then a circlet with nose and cheek guards. His eyes were bright and sincere, and his hair flowed in golden rivers down over his shoulders and down his back. He was the pinnacle of Sin'dorei standards of handsomeness, strong, fair and above all else, powerful.

“I'm sorry, I meant no insult by asking – I was only wondering if I might be able to assist you.”

Malorian quickly looked away and shook his head quickly to clear it. “Uhm... help me? How?” He asked, suddenly feeling a bit foolish. Blood Knight's were healers, the injuries he had sustained would probably be nothing for a paladin of his expertise to remedy. However the knight merely smiled at him and slowly removed his glove, his warm hand laying against Malorian's cheek in a way that made the young elf fidget a little with awkwardness. A surge of warmth suddenly shot through him, filling him from head to toe with radiance. He felt the pain in his body melting away slowly, the swelling around his eye going down enough to allow him to use it to see. The feeling was... blissful, so gentle and nurturing that he wished it wouldn't stop.

But it did stop, and he breathed out a soft sigh of disappointment. He did still feel twinges of pain deeper in his body, on his jaw and where Marius has ravaged him the night before, but dared not say that to the paladin. “I... thank you...” He whispered, and he was quite thankful for the pain in his body had been greatly lessened. The Blood Knight knelt down to eye level with him, which was rather embarrassing when he realized how short he must be in comparison. His father had always told him he was all legs...

“If it's alright, I can heal those deeper injuries... but it would help greatly if you were laying down to do it. Would you mind following me to my room, it's just upstairs.” Malorian swallowed a little. Was this a trick? His life from two days ago seemed to be repeating itself again and he knew that the knight could see the apprehension in his eyes. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and the paladin leaned in close to him, keeping a few inches between them but making sure Malorian had to look into his eyes. “I promise... I won't do anything to hurt you.” He then stood up and began walking towards the stairs, giving the young warlock a glance that told him he should follow if he wanted the help.

Oh, he felt so torn. He was afraid... terribly afraid of the power that elf held and of him turning it on him just as Marius had done. But Marius was a warlock... he was, well, evil. Though he supposed he shouldn't label all warlocks evil since he himself was one and he didn't quite view himself as a child of darkness... but then again, he'd never really fit in with any of the students of magic, mage or warlock alike so perhaps that put him in class of his own. And on top of that, the Blood Knight was a paladin. The upholders of the weak, the protectors of the innocent. He shook his head, letting his hands hold it propped up on the table for a second. He looked over at Victor who was completely passed out on a bench by the door and figured he would be fine on his own so with a reluctant sigh he brought himself to his feet and made his way up the stairs to a hallway with at least half a dozen rooms off it. The passage was poorly lit, but at the end of it he could see one of the doors was ajar and he cautiously approached it. As silently as he could, he pushed it open, his assumption indeed correct that it belonged to the paladin who was sitting on the end of a creaky wooden bed, looking at him with a kind smile. “I knew you'd come.” Malorian blushed slightly and let himself fully in the room, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

The paladin rose to his feet and motioned the young elf over to the bed, gently pushing him down onto it when he seemed to nervous to remember that he was supposed to lay down. “There we go...” He said, smiling and sitting next to him. “Comfortable?” Malorian nodded a little, and the paladin gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before getting up and moving his heavy gauntlets and chest piece. His chain-mail undershirt fell to the ground with a jingling thud and the knight gave a small sigh of relief. “Much better... that armor can be so stifling after awhile.” He shook his hair out and tied it back behind his head in a high ponytail, though the strands were still long enough that they went past his shoulders. Malorian gave him a nervous smile as he spoke to him, adjusting himself every few seconds as though he was laying on a bed of pine cones.

After a moment of composing himself, the paladin turned around and came back over to him, dressed now only in a loose white linen shirt and dark red dyed trousers of the same material. He sat right next to him, looking down at his patient. “Golden eyes... how very unusual.” The knight said, brushing some of the hair out of Malorian's face so her could get a better look at them. “I'm sorry, where are my manners, I have not properly introduced myself.” Said the knight with a look of chagrin on his face. “My name is Elarios, of house Duskmourne. And may I ask who you are?” For a moment there was only silence between them.

“Malorian...”

The young elf whispered finally, his head turning away, recalling how he'd been asked that question only a day or two ago... he'd honestly lost track of how much time had passed since his encounter with Marius. “Malorian... such a strong and beautiful name.” The pyromancer just bit his lip and continued to avert his gaze, a little taken aback by the compliment. He felt the paladins strong hands rest on his chest then and again felt the warm healing light leaking into his body from the touch. The bruises on his face retreated and disappeared, his back stopped aching and he could even feel his wrist righting itself within its makeshift cast until he could move it as good as new. “That's incredible...” He stated, his fingers tracing his face and smiled when he realized that they had vanished.

The paladin nodded at him. “Yes, your body has made a full recovery.” He said, looking over his handiwork. “But what about your spirit?” Malorian's head snapped up, his eyes studying the glowing emerald ones of the knights. “What do you mean...?” He asked, his voice cracking a little. 'No... please don't know... please don't know my shame...' “I heard your conversation with the forsaken... you were in the Plaguelands by yourself at your age? That's no small feat... in fact, I'm surprised you survived out there at all.” The paladin rested a hand on his stomach, which made Malorian jump a little, his heart rate speeding up again. “But I don't think what hurt you out there was Scourge... was it.” It wasn't really asked like a question, a with a sinking stomach the warlock knew that his secret was out. “Please... please don't tell anyone... if you do, I'll be a laughing stock... my family... my father, they'll never forgive me-.”

His simpering was cut off mid-sentence though by the brush of the paladins lips against his own, his fingers running through his hair. “I'll admit to a lie I told you Malorian... I didn't need you to come up here to heal you...” Elarios kissed him again, but this time pressing more insistently against him, as if begging entrance to his mouth which the warlock was keeping firmly shut, his eyes wide and his body trembling a bit. The paladin could feel how afraid he was, so he pulled away to look down at him. “But I knew that you needed more healing then just your body... your mind is scarred... you're so afraid of me even though I have committed no crime against you... you are so sure I will hurt you.” the knight pulled himself up onto the bed next to him, nuzzling against the warlocks neck and ear. “I won't lie to you... I want you.” He whispered to him which made the warlock inhale quickly, and though the thought crossed his mind to bolt, the paladin seemed to foresee it because his hands firmly but gently held him in place.

“What you felt... what was done to you was awful... but it's not supposed to be. I can show you how could be...” He ran his fingers along Malorian's chest and down his stomach, but the warlocks fingers grasped his wrist before he could explore lower.

“I... I can't... please...”

'Why is this happening now... why all of a sudden all the attention...?' He looked up at the paladin, his eyes full of hurt and sadness. “You're right... I have no reason to fear you... but...” A soft kiss silenced him again, and so very subtly he returned it, desire weaving its way through his nerves, setting them alight with warmth.

“But you need time...” The paladin whispered back to him, finishing his sentence for him. “I'm a patient man Malorian. To conquer anything one must be willing to wait until the perfect moment, especially fleeting hearts.” The young warlock looked up at him. “You mean... even if I don't satisfy you now, you won't find someone else who will...?” A gentle hand stroked his cheek, and the knight shook his head, a small smile on his face. “But... you don't even know me...” Malorian continued, positive that this could not possibly be for real. “Perhaps you fascinate me.” Replied the paladin with amusement. “It wasn't your wounds that brought me to you, or your terrifying story...” He gently caressed the side of his face. “It was those eyes... those eyes of flame that burned so dimly and how I wanted so badly to see them rekindled with life and happiness.” He smiled and drew an X over his heart with finger. “I swear by the light that's the truth...”

Malorian couldn't hope to understand why these people did what they did, why Marius had saved him only to break him... why Victor had been his friend when he needed to know that he hadn't died and that he and that monster weren't the only people still in the world. Elarios... whatever he saw in his eyes some part of him hoped would never make him leave... wanting to know the taste of true love instead of the forced, ugly version forced upon him before.

He allowed himself to sleep beside the paladin that night, as though he were testing him to make sure he was true to his word. The strong arms gently holding him, the soft brush of breath on his neck... he was so jumbled up inside he wasn't sure whether he should feel disgusted or pleased with himself for allowing himself to be with another so quickly. Maybe if Elarios could love him... or at least show him what true love felt like... maybe he would forget Marius.

Maybe it would simply fade like a dream.